She rolled on to her back, struggling to control the onslaught of emotion. It had been so long since anyone had touched her that just the thought of it was painful. For all her other kindnesses, Coblaith had never held or embraced her, even during the many long nights when she’d cried herself to sleep. The last caress she remembered was the touch of her mother’s hand on her cheek...
The tears spilled over, stinging her eyes, coursing down her cheeks and trickling into the furs. The warrior’s words had felt cruel, evoking a human connection that she would never, could never, have with anyone again. But, worst of all, he’d broken through her defences, provoking her into speech after five years of silence. Combined with her singing earlier, the effort had made her mouth feel stretched and sore, as if her tongue were swollen.
‘I’m sorry!’ She heard his voice outside again, calling to her. She’d thought—hoped—he’d been on the verge of fainting, but apparently she hadn’t hit him hard enough. Did the man never shut up?
‘I shouldn’t have said those things. It was wrong of me,’ he called again, as if he truly thought an apology was enough.
She rolled on to her side to watch the leather curtain, inwardly vowing that if he touched as much as a corner then she’d grab the nearest available object—in this case an iron poker beside the hearth—and bring it down over his head.
‘What can I do to make things right?’
Fortunately for him, the curtain didn’t move. Her itching fingers almost wished it would. The thought of a poker hitting his head was eminently satisfying.
‘I already told you to go!’ she shouted back. ‘I don’t want you to repay me!’
‘That’s not the reason.’ His voice sounded strained. ‘I mean, I want to repay you, but that’s not the only reason I can’t go.’
‘What else can there be?’ She felt almost desperate now. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’
‘Because I’ve nowhere else to go.’
She drew her brows together, rubbing her palms over her cheeks as she considered the words. Nowhere else to go... She knew how that felt, but it was hard to imagine this warrior not belonging somewhere. Judging by the quality of his mail shirt and weapons, not to mention his arm rings, he was a man of reasonable wealth and standing. How could he not belong somewhere? She rolled to a sitting position, took a calming breath, stood up and then stepped back outside. He was sitting on the ground a few feet away, as if he’d staggered so far and then collapsed, ashen-faced and looking as though he were about to vomit. Which might have given her some satisfaction if he hadn’t been so close to her roundhouse.
‘Here.’ She reached for an empty pot and handed it to him. ‘Put your head between your legs.’
‘Thank you.’ He did as she told him, draping his forearms over his knees.
‘Don’t thank me. I might still hit you again.’ She scowled threateningly. ‘What do you mean, nowhere else to go? Aren’t you one of the new settlers?’
‘No. I came from Alba to find someone.’ He gave a bitter-sounding laugh. ‘As you can see, they weren’t very happy to see me.’
‘Because you wouldn’t stop talking?’
‘Something like that.’ He looked up again, his lips twitching in a pained kind of smile. ‘Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut, but I came here to ask questions, to discover the truth about something that happened three years ago.’
‘What something?’
A shadow passed over his face. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I have time, Norseman.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t talk about it, but I also can’t leave until I’m able to do what I came here to get done. It’s important.’
‘Really?’ She pursed her lips. At least she’d found some way to shut him up, but if he wouldn’t give her the details then she saw no reason to let him stay. On the other hand, perhaps the words he’d muttered in his sleep were explanation enough...
‘How do I know you won’t hurt me?’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘I’ve no idea who you are.’
‘I won’t hurt you, I swear it. I’m Danr Sigurdsson, bastard son of Jarl Sigurd of Maerr.’
‘Jarl?’
‘I told you, it’s a long story. Here.’ He unfastened his sword belt and pushed it across the ground to her. ‘Take my weapons. If I do anything at all you don’t like, then you can set your wolves on me.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I might anyway?’
‘No. You saved my life. That kind of thing makes me trust a person.’
She made a sceptical sound, hardening her heart despite the words. ‘Did you come to Skíð alone?’